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March 23, 2005
dude, where's my hair?
i'm in supercuts. 7:00pm on a friday night. la vida loca, you know.
i couldn't stand it anymore, the whole hair thing. i let it go, sort of a graphic representation of everything else i've let go in the past month or so. it's gotten long, which, paradoxically (and again, symbolically), only makes the scalp yamulke on my head that much more noticeable.
a week ago, i plugged in the clippers to get them nice and fully charged. i was ready to do it, to just shave it all off. therer would be a certain practicality to it, and possibly even a new and intriguing look for me.
oh, please don't let me get the mean-looking asian lady. she just grabbed that kid by the skull and said "stop moving." yikes.
but there's a little bit of fear, and a bit of sadness involved in the whole idea of shaving my head. i could very well look horrendous, my noggin lumpy and misshapen. i think of finding my baby book, and seeing recorded there "Mother's First Words on Seeing Baby: 'Ugly, pointed head.'" apparently, i was a fat little kid with a citrus juicer for a brainbox.
there's also the issue that over the years, my steadfast declaration that i'd just shave my head once hair loss reached a certain point has lent the act a sort of never-go-back finality. it seems like growing it back later would be a sort of pitiful act of nostalgia-fueled hopeful desperation. kind of like going back to the ex you just broke up with last week, just because no better options have appeared, and some things were good, like, well, the sex and the shared love of waffles and home improvement shows, never mind the incessant squabbles and her damnedly bizarre hatred of oatmeal, pearl jam's later works, and the color red.
mean-looking asian woman's done with the kid. he looks weirdly pleased with himself. now his dad is getting his cut. he's swanky late 70's hair model guy with a moustache, hair swept back in layers. he stares at himself in the mirror while she works, his head down, just the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. i keep expecting him to give himself the point and shoot with a wink - "looking gooood, baby." i saw the kid watching his own haircut with the same expression. history will repeat itself. women will fall. they should know better.
i know i'm more conscious of the spot than other people. i see it in photos and in the mirror, which causes me to see myself as a slightly younger, barely less bitter version coach dean cady.
but fortunately, i'm right at six feet tall, despite dylan's claim that i'm 5'11", because he was drunk at the time, as he pretty much always is. anyway, having the bald spot six feet up means that few will ever see it, unless i: bow; drop something; or am sitting, like in a restaurant. this means i am unlikely to get dates with royalty or waitresses who demand a full head of hair. it does also make eye contact and not dropping things that much more important.
"lob? lob?" crap. i got the mean-looking asian lady.
ok, she's not so bad, as long as i'm compliant with her demands to stay still. i don't think she understands a word i'm saying. she keeps asking "2, 3, 4?" i think she's talking about clipper guard lengths. she also seems to know "short" and "not short."
actually, the mean-looking asian lady, despite the linguistic impasse, knew what she was doing. my head feels better. the spot is actually less obvious, looking just an area with slightly less foliage, rather than a region of slash-and-burn agriculture in a rainforest.
i get home, and the clippers are waiting, the green light indicating a full charge.
i eye the spot warily in the mirror. i turn, try to catch it by surprise. i give the suave smile and slight bow to the lovely princess of propecia as i pick her up to take her to the pearl jam concert. acceptable. i look up from my plate of imaginary molé enchiladas to smile at the cute waitress. not bad.
i hunker my shoulders and scowl like coach dean cady. no, not there yet.
i unplug the clippers and put them back in the drawer with the unopened box of condoms and the expired hair gel.
postscript - you know who else i've discovered is balding? jon stewart. it's true. check it out. and he's nowhere near six feet tall. he inspires me.
Posted by Rob at March 23, 2005 12:00 AM
Comments
Patrick Stewart and short and bald and still manages to be totally hot. No worries.
Posted by: hb at March 23, 2005 02:35 PM
Mike Stipe is managing... I have 2 friends who began loosing hair by the age of 21 and they began shaving their heads. You know what? They both look good! You Wock Wobert-shave it!
Posted by: C-Note at March 23, 2005 07:02 PM
ha!! that coach dean cady thing was priceless. thanks for the chuckle. (and it's time for a new mirror, rob.)
Posted by: stimmie at March 24, 2005 02:18 PM
Shave it if you'd like. If you remember (or maybe you didn't know me then) I shaved my head back in 1998. Kept it for a year and then decided I wanted hair again. I might do it again, who knows. Have fun. It grows back.
Posted by: Jori at March 30, 2005 01:29 PM